Page 7 of Saving Jennifer
That gave him pause. “What happened?”
“What didn’t happen is a better question. He assigned a team who treated me like a package to be delivered from my hotel to the district attorney’s office. They didn’t listen when I told them one of the security staff at my building was acting suspicious. Less than forty-eight hours later, my car exploded in the parking garage, and the suspicious security guard disappeared.”
The implication was clear. “You think someone in the company was compromised?”
“No. I trust everyone working with Carpenter Security Services. I think they weren’t taking me seriously. You must understand, I’m a pariah, the bad guy in this scenario. I put Gabi Boudreau in danger in Texas. I put the target on Salem Hudson’s back when Tarik asked me to, even though I didn’t know what he intended. I never realized what a monster my half-brother was. He never gave me any indication of how depraved he was, or the lengths he’d go to in order to get Salem back under his control.” She sighed. “You don’t know me. Everything you’ve heard or read about me is probably true. But if you are going to take this case, work to keep me safe, I’m going to ask you to listen when I express my concerns. If I’m uncomfortable or the situation feels off, I want you to hear me, to investigate.” She fixed him with a direct gaze. “So yes, Mr. Temple, I think your background is very relevant. I need to know if you’re the kind of man who listens, or the kind who automatically thinks he knows better because he’s got a gun and military training.”
There was something refreshing about her directness, even if her attitude grated. Noah found himself respecting her caution, if not her delivery.
“I’m the kind of man who stays alive by trusting his instincts,” he said. “And right now, my instincts say we should continue this conversation after you’ve settled in, and I’ve finished checking the premises.”
For a moment he thought she might argue. Instead, she nodded once. “Third floor has the best vantage points. I’d prefer the second-floor bedroom at the back of the house. It has access to the balcony and the oak tree that could provide an alternate exit if necessary.”
Strategic thinking. Not what I expected from an interior designer.
“You’ve given this some thought. How do you know the layout of the house, to know where the best vantage points are?”
“Like I said, you learn fast when people are trying to kill you.” She picked up her bag again. “I have a copy of the blueprints on my computer, along with photographs of the outside gardens, courtesy of Samuel Carpenter.” The look she gave him made him instantly alert and yet gave him pause. He shouldn’t underestimate her. That would be a mistake. “I’ll meet you in the study. We have matters to discuss.” She walked away before he could respond, leaving him with the distinct impression whatever Gator had told him about Jennifer Baptiste, it barely scratched the surface.
Noah continued his security check, noting she’d gone straight to the study rather than to her preferred bedroom. Curious, he made his way back downstairs after ensuring the upper floors were secure.
He found her at the desk, laptop open before her, already surrounded by papers spread in organized chaos. She looked up as he entered, her expression unreadable.
“Well? Will the fortress hold?”
“It’s not a fortress,” Noah replied, remaining by the door. “But it’s defensible. We’ll need to establish protocols—daily routines, communication procedures, contingency plans.”
“Already done.” She gestured to a folder on the edge of the desk. “My suggestions, based on what didn’t work at the secure apartment.”
He crossed the room and picked up the folder, scanning its contents with growing surprise. The document was thorough, detailed, and tactically sound—communication protocols, emergency rendezvous points, even preferred routes to various locations in the city.
“This is…comprehensive,” he admitted.
“I told you, I learn fast.” She closed her laptop. “The question is whether you’re willing to incorporate my input, or if you’re going to insist on doing things your way regardless.”
Noah closed the folder. “Ms. Baptiste—”
“Jennifer,” she corrected. “If we’re going to be in close quarters for the next two weeks, we might as well use first names.”
“Jennifer,” he conceded. “I understand your frustration with your previous security detail. But this adversarial approach is counterproductive.”
“And what would you suggest? Blind trust? That hasn’t worked out well for me so far.” Despite the challenge in her words, there was something vulnerable in her expression that gave him pause—a glimpse of the toll this situation had taken.
Noah set the folder down and took a seat across from her. “How about we start with honest communication? You tell me what you need, I tell you what I can provide, and we find the middle ground.”
She studied him for a long moment, as if weighing his sincerity. “Alright,” she said finally. “What I need is somebody who doesn’t treat me like a helpless victim or an inconvenient burden. Someone who understands that I know more about the Amirs and their methods than anyone here. Trust me when I say the Amirs do not like me. They do not want me in their lives in any way, shape, or form. What I need is someone who won’t try to shut me down when I say that I need to work, because even though I have to testify, to deal with lawyers and the courts, I still have a job to do. Since the Amirs have frozen all my bank accounts and I am forced to stay in the United States, I need to work. It is hard enough to do my job remotely. Sometimes work is the only thing that makes this entire nightmare worthwhile.”
Her passion was unexpected—not the entitled demands of a privileged heiress, but the determination of someone fighting to keep her head above water.
“And what I can provide,” Noah said carefully, “is protection for someone who understands what it means to be targeted by powerful people. I know how to stay off the grid, how to recognize threats before they materialize, and how to respond when they do.” He met her gaze directly. “I won’t promise to agree with everything you suggest, but I do promise to listen.”
Something shifted in her expression—not quite trust, but perhaps the foundation for it.
“Samuel Carpenter said you were different from the others,” she said quietly. “He said you’d understand what I’m up against because you’ve faced something similar.”
Noah tensed. How much had Carpenter told her about Kabul, about Donovan’s betrayal?
“He said I could trust you because you know what it costs to stand up for what’s right,” she continued, watching him closely. “Is that true?”